


of course

by maxwell (aishwarya)



Category: Tales of Xillia
Genre: M/M, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1685432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishwarya/pseuds/maxwell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jude is gorgeous like this, saliva coating his lips, porcelain skin flushed and tinted pink, and there’s no way that Alvin could walk away and call it a day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of course

The new Hamil is quiet and calm and Jude wishes he could soak in the feel of the ghost town, but Leia is bleeding too much for comfort and his jaw still hurts from where Alvin kicked him, face raw and blazing.

He climbs up the shed’s dainty wooden stairs—the same stairs he tripped over because his legs were once too weak to move—and opens the door, sighing when he enters the room and doesn’t receive a welcome in return. Leia stirs on his back and he moves towards the bed with urgency, laying her down on her stomach in a way that she doesn’t suffocate. The wound isn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be—it’s a few centimeters deep, but the bullet was small and missed her spine (and some veins) by a few inches. He’s only seen a bullet-wound victim once at the Medical School so the experience is rather new, but after a few cuts and pulls, the bullet is out, sticky and shiny and bloody.

Jude is finally finished after casting a few healing spells and going through his entire roll of gauze, and he grabs the small stool from the side of the room and sits in front of the bed so he can catch the very moment Leia opens her eyes. His chest aches, in some weird half-physical half-emotional type of way—he isn’t supposed to be here, waiting for his friend to awaken with bated breath, unsure of what they’re going to do next once she’s conscious. They were both supposed to be anywhere but here, their friends alongside them, all of them happy and healthy and together and _alive_.

And then the door opens and Jude already knows it’s him. He can sense him, smell him—Alvin has always carried the scent of aged cologne and dusty gunpowder, the scent of an adult.

The mercenary cuts to the chase. “Jude,” he calls out, voice deep and steady, nothing like what it was hours ago when he chased the Leronde duo through the trees.

Jude stays silent, only listening as Alvin sets his gun on the floor—a token of ceasefire—and takes a few steps towards the younger boy. “ _Jude_ ,” he repeats, this time with a hint of desperation.

“… You’re back already,” Jude finally replies; the words are bitter on his tongue.

“Turn around,” Alvin says, practically begging at this point, and Jude can’t put on the angry-and-disappointed act for very much longer. He’s not as angry as he is confused, anyway—he usually deals with Alvin’s disappearances throughout the span of days, always welcoming him back with somewhat-open arms because he’s able to muse everything over to the point where his decisions are the results of (what he believes to be) sound reasoning and balanced judgment. And _yes_ , he meant what he said when he straddled Alvin and told him to get moving— _let’s get moving,_ ( _together_ , he meant to say, but held his tongue at the last moment)—but he didn’t expect to get pushed away as if earning his trust was a game that one could simply pause until they were ready to own up to it.

But that was what Alvin did: he paused and walked away from the screen, leaving Jude with a wounded Leia and unanswered questions and bruises from head to toe. And now he’s _back_ , sooner than he’s ever been, and Jude doesn’t know how he feels about that. He doesn’t know how he feels about _him_ , the mercenary with the heart of gold who screamed at him for always going with the flow but then dared to ask him for all of the answers.

But he doesn’t have an answer for this, not yet, so he does the one thing he can do and turns his head so he can actually see Alvin in the flesh. And _man_ , does Alvin look like hell, even more so than he did when he barged in the cabin for the first time that day, gun drawn—his hair is stuck to his skin like glue and his body seems shrunken and small, almost as if he is uncomfortable in his clothes—uncomfortable in his own skin. His chest is heaving up and down and he’s panting as if he ran all the way here. A large gash claims his left cheek and he can’t help but to chuckle when Jude stares longer than expected.

“What, surprised at your own strength?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Jude says, face sullen. “I mean, in the moment, I did. But I didn’t mean to _hurt_ you.”

Alvin wants to kick him again—he’s still as apologetic as ever, even after all that’s happened. “Pretty deep, kid,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders, “But you were out for my blood, and you know it.”

Well, _that_ hits a nerve. “You’re still calling me that? Don’t you think I’m more than just some ‘kid’ now?”

“Relax, relax. I only call you that so I don’t get too caught up,” Alvin replies, looking anywhere but at Jude. The medic raises an eyebrow but stays quiet, giving Alvin the go-ahead to continue. “But if you’re so adamant about me treating you like an adult, then …”

Jude blinks and suddenly Alvin is closer, close enough to grab the boy’s collar and pull him in. The younger male can feel Alvin’s breath on his forehead—shaky and sluggish and sweaty—and tries to move away, wincing when large arms hold him still from behind. They stay like this for a while, staring and _staring_ at each other until Alvin licks his lips and begins to speak.

“You always have the answers, but can you answer this?” He leans in, and then: “Why is it that everything I do leads back to you?”

“What do you mean?” Jude responds, vaguely realizing where this might be going but goading the other man regardless.

“I _mean_ ,” Alvin growls, tipping Jude’s head up so he can’t look away, “No matter how often I left, I always came running back, always asking for your approval, _and_ even after I was offered a free ticket back home, I couldn’t even finish the damn job! So, why?”

Alvin sounds hostile but feels afraid; Jude can feel him trembling through his gloves, a rarity for someone who tends to be composed on a regular basis. Today has been anything but regular, though.

“Is this why you came back? To yell at me some more? Because we should be working towards—”

“I came back so I could figure out what the hell’s been wrong with me!”

The mercenary pulls Jude back towards him and the kid is wide-eyed and nonplussed, only able to breathe out an _Alvin_ before lips meet lips. It’s compromising at first—Alvin can tell that he’s Jude’s first, the way he keeps turning his head at an angle, refusing to part his teeth—and decides that it’s time to get more, exploring until tongue meets tongue and Jude loosens up, allowing him to take control. Jude tastes syrupy-sweet and begins to moan every time Alvin’s tongue brushes his and this is all too good to be true, so good that he suddenly pulls back to stare into Jude’s eyes and make sure this is all real.

“Well,” Alvin says, grinning more awkwardly than he ever has in his life. It’s weirder than when he and Presa made it to first base, mainly because Presa was completely in control. That’s what he once loved about her—her independence, her ability to take the initiative, the way she was able to bounce back from almost anything. And now he’s standing here with this madly-blushing kid who’s anything but, holding him as if he’s going to run away and he suddenly feels … guilty, and—

Jude is kissing _him_ now, wrapping his arms around his neck and closing his eyes shut like he’s actually savoring the moment, and—wow. “I don’t hate you,” he eventually says, breaking the contact breathlessly, “I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

Those words light a spark in Alvin’s eyes and the man is suddenly stepping backwards until he reaches the second bed, laying down hastily and pulling Jude with him. Jude complies and trembles at the sudden intimacy—he’s never been in such close proximity to a man before, let alone another person. And then he sees Alvin’s face, smug and victorious, and decides to move in and initiate another kiss—there’s no way in hell that he’s looking inexperienced at a time like this, no way, not ever. It’s slow and languid and still unseasoned but it’s good enough for Alvin to start trailing touches down Jude’s spine. The former eventually pulls back, dips his head down, and begins to kiss Jude’s neck, smiling through the touch when the kid’s breathing starts to escalate.

“I’ve had my eyes on you ever since we went to Nia Khera, you know,” Alvin whispers, lips leaving bruises on Jude’s skin, “All those villagers wanted Milla’s attention, but you? You were the real prize, standing there with that _beautiful_ body …”

He flips Jude over so he’s straddling his waist and his fingers begin to trail up the boy’s torso; Jude, being the thoughtful boy he is, wants to ask him if he can feel anything through the fabric, but keeps his thoughts to himself once the other man begins to unbutton his shirt, revealing pale, smooth skin underneath. Jude shivers—he’s never been spoken to like this before, let alone touched like this—and lets out another sound when Alvin’s lips start to trail down his chest.

The next moan is louder and causes Jude to realize his surroundings. “W-wait, Leia—”

“—isn’t waking up any time soon. You’ve healed her enough,” Alvin interjects, covering Jude’s mouth with his leather-covered fingers, and the student wonders why the other man’s gloves are still on in the first place. But then Alvin takes them off and then goes for his belt buckle, loosening it when—

“D-don’t,” Jude says, almost at a murmur, stopping Alvin in his tracks before he can pull his pants down his waist. Just like that, the go-with-the-flow Jude is gone, replaced with a Jude who is too afraid to fuck out of the blue. But Jude is gorgeous like this, saliva coating his lips, porcelain skin flushed and tinted pink, and there’s no way that Alvin could walk away and call it a day …

“Relax, honors student,” he says, chuckling at how that nickname gets a blush out of the kid even in the heat of the moment. “There are other things I can do.”

Jude is about to say something when Alvin cuts him off, tugging at his pants and smirking when he doesn’t receive an objection for _that_. He unhooks Jude’s belt and pulls his pants down to his knees, low enough for him to be able to wrap his fingers around Jude’s cock in all its glory, and then begins to _move_ , picking up speed when Jude squirms underneath him. The boy is sensitive, he already can tell that—he’s already panting, breath hitching when Alvin begins to squeeze at the bottom, building up friction.

“Just you wait,” Alvin warns, dropping his head down—and then he’s circling the tip and swirling his tongue around until Jude moans, surprised when his mouth slides down easily. Jude’s whimpering louder and louder now and Alvin is eager to take more of him in, making a small little hum when Jude’s length finally reaches the back of his throat. Jude begins to articulate through his moans— _A-Alvin, ahh, I-I’m_ —and then the tension is gone, filling up in Alvin’s mouth, heavy and sticky until he swallows.

“How was it?” Alvin asks, crawling back up to the top of the bed.

“It was good,” Jude replies, “Sorry I didn’t want to … well …”

“No hard feelings,” Alvin assures, planting a kiss on Jude’s forehead. A part of him knows exactly what the younger male was thinking— _Milla, Milla—it has to be Milla, if anyone._

Jude leans forward, motioning for a kiss, and Alvin hesitates. “Sure you want to? I don’t taste that good right now, trust me.”

Jude mumbles something along the lines of _I don’t care_ and pulls Alvin in, feeling a rise when the Elympian pushes in a little more than usual. Everything is still fucked up—the schism still stands, his childhood friend is still recovering merely feet away, and Milla is dead—but this might be the beginning of the end of the vicious cycle he’d been enduring since he crossed eyes with Alvin at Fennmont Seahaven.

Maybe this is it. Maybe this _is_ the end. Maybe Alvin will stay.

“Heh, wasn’t expecting that. You must _really_ love me,” the older man says, easing away from the kiss.

“Of course,” Jude says, wrapping a leg around Alvin’s waist, unaware of how his body suddenly tenses. His next words are muffled, but audible. “Promise me … promise me you won’t disappear or anything.”

“… What kind of guy do you think I am?” Alvin banters, running a hand through Jude’s hair with a sigh. Mere moments pass and the medic’s breathing goes even, coalescing with the soft sound of the outside dusk.

Jude wakes up the next day to ruffled sheets and messy imprints on the mattress, cold and deserted and alone.

* * *

 

Gunpowder fills the air and Alvin is back, standing at the edge of the precipice, considering meeting Presa at the bottom until Jude walks over to his side. Jude is _angry_ , but he’s here, and that speaks volumes.

“Come with us,” he whispers, and Alvin wants to put on the iron gauntlets and punch Jude into tomorrow for being so damn _forgiving_ to a person who does not deserve forgiveness. “Now the kids wanna babysit me,” the mercenary responds, regretting his choice of words as soon as they leave his mouth.

“Don’t think this is easy for me. I can’t forget what you did to Leia.” _And to me,_ Jude wants to add, but holds his tongue, afraid of what Alvin may—or may not—say.

“I’ll tell her I’m sorry,” Alvin promises, receiving a silent confirmation in return. He watches the boy— _can he even call him that anymore?—_ walk towards his friends and soak in their warmth and companionship and he wonders if he could ever be a part of that again, a part of _them_ , a group full of unconditional love and compassion and trust.

 _Trust_ , he thinks, saying the word over and over in his head until it sounds hackneyed and unreal, almost like a foreign concept. _Trust_ , he repeats, and his feet are heavy with the guilt of unsaid pleas and what-ifs, but he trails behind them regardless, eager to pick up where he left off. If they would let him, of course.

After all, he’ll do anything to hear Jude say _of course_ to him again.

**Author's Note:**

> let's pretend that there's a second bed in the shed in hamil because i didn't want to make them go all the way downstairs haha


End file.
